Hero
by his-little-troll
Summary: Kristoff was a hero. He always had been.
1. Chapter 1

**Hero**

_Part One_

_I was there when the rain tapped away down your face;_

_You were a miracle, I was just holding your space._

Kristoff is a hero. He rebels against it, the calling in his blood. He ensures he's off-putting and grumpy and he smells bad. He's rude and intimidating. She sees only a man who knows the mountains, a guide for her journey. She doesn't know he's a hero yet. So he tries to sound selfish and crude. She barely notices. She's got to find her sister. She doesn't have time to worry about manners and boundaries and men who talk to reindeer.

By the time they reach the castle the hero takes over. He knocks down Kristoff's walls like they are nothing more than paper in the wind. He catches himself smiling and laughing and sharing memories. The hero notices the curve of her lips and the pink in her cheeks. The hero reaches for her with open arms and soft smiles. Kristoff's nervous resistance slips. Anna laughs and stumbles and slides into his heart.

He catches Elsa's anger. He sees her turn, her hand out in defense. The ice races across the glistening room, aimed to Anna's heart. The hero rises, feet pounding against the slippery floor. He hears the cry echoing off the walls. His name is called. His heart skips and the hero is silent. Anna's behind him, her arms struggling to hold his weight. A light chuckle wipes the worry lines from her forehead. The chill in his chest is not so easily dismissed. She doesn't understand his gasp for breath as his lungs freeze and they face off against the Olaf-monster.

In the blink of an eye they're falling, the air whirring through his ears. He comes to in ice, his body shivering in the snow. The hero struggles against Kristoff's survival. Anna's worried chatter distracts him from the lead in his limbs. Her hand is warm against the bump on his head. The hero reassures her, despite her strange look.

She brushes the snow from his blonde hair, her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Your hair…"

"I just fell off a cliff! You should see your hair." The bravado is punctuated by a sharp shiver.

"It's turning white." She lifts her hand to her own streaked hair. Her brow furrows again. He tries to think of anything to smooth away her fears.

"Don't worry about me." He knows his hands are cold on her cheek, his finger running over her steadily blushing cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hero**

_Part Two_

_All we knew of home was just a sunset and some clouds;_

_You were a magazine, I was a plain Jane._

The frost curled around his toes. Anna chatted into the wind, her voice a warm caress in the chill crawling over his vision. Occasionally her eyes would slide over to study the top of his head. He wondered how to breach a visit to the trolls. Pointed boots trudged through sludge and sleet.

She stopped in front of him, her shoulders squared and her blue eyes steeled. Her mouth set in a firm line as she reached up, fingers clasping tightly to blond waves. A determined tug swung his head down. His senses swam against a tide of summer flowers and frosted sweets, her smell swelling as she studied his hair.

"Like I thought. It's turning white. She struck you, didn't she?" Her hand reached again to the white stripe against the red. "We've got to get help."

"What about Hans?" The question is immediate. He regrets it almost as quickly. She studies him silently for too long.

"What about Hans?" The words are almost lost on the whistling breeze. "He'll be there when I get back."

Ice creeps over his knee. He hides his limp by jumping on Sven. The reindeer watches him with suspicion. "Don't worry about me."

"You can't stop me." A challenge, a declaration. A confession neither was sure of.

The trolls are too far away to hide the affliction. The hero presses on with humor and wit, chipping away the tilt of her lips. He doesn't relent until her head falls back in laughter, her arms tightening around his waist. Something trickles down his back. Mirth warms his skin, lights his eyes. An imaginary Prince, sleek and smooth, smothers the direction of his thoughts. Kristoff falls quiet. Ice sends tremors to the hands holding the reins. Hans doesn't have to be present to ruin the moment. Anna's giggles die down as her reindeer rider falls silent. He can't hide his brooding.

"Kristoff, it will be alright. You said they can help."

"I know they can. I've seen them do it before." Then what? Is the Princess off to the Prince? He feels her hand move from his, knows she strokes the white blazing through her braid.

"It looks good." His hands can't lead. They fall numb in his mittens. He can feel her smile behind him. The hero smiles with her.

"Thanks. I dreamt I was kissed by a troll." He's surprised, but the thought gives a pleasant speed to his heartbeat.

Sven crashes through the Valley, the boulders still and quiet. He hoped they would be awake. He staggers and lurches from Sven's back. Anna slipped down after him, her small hand resting on his. She gasps when he faces her. He pretends not to know why.

"We're here."

She's not looking at the rocks. She's not listening to Olaf wondering among the moss. Her eyes are glued to the blue encroaching on his chin, spreading across his neck. He doesn't realize what she's doing until she's already tugged off his gloves, yanking angrily on his tunic.

"How bad is it?" He can hardly hear her. "Kristoff!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Hero**

_Just me and all of my plain Jane glory._

He was breathing, he knew it. He could feel the swell of his lungs, the shrink of an exhale. Anna's face swam before him. The trolls were a dim grinding in the world far away. Warm hands curled around his fingers. Soft, silk strands press against his chest. His arms move with a crunch, but they move around her. Can he freeze this way? He feels sluggish, as though he took a dip in the frozen fjord. His limbs are heavy and his heart slow. Ice splinters against his ribs, spills over his lungs. A vague pain pulses over his skin. His eyes droop.

Somewhere in the distance he hears the frantic rambling of Grand Pabbie. Someone faceless is laughing at him as the words true love struggle past his winter logged ears. He hears the slick click of boots across a dance floor, a sweet giggle in the darkness. _Oh, Prince Hans… He'll be there when I get back_. The only heat in his arms faded. His skin drew tight, his eyes fell shut.

Death is a lot more kind than he'd expected. Something deeper than sleep, than peace, crawled into his belly and curled to rest. Fuzzy thoughts prickled at his consciousness, a forgotten task reaching for him. He hadn't thought one could feel tired without a body. He melted into the nothingness, an unsubstantial shadow in a world without light.

Then he feels a pull, a tug. An order is whispered in his ear. Stand, struggle, fight. Feel. He is burning, the exhaustion incinerating in his bones. Suddenly he has bones, structure, shape. His fingers feel, his arms bend, his legs are weak. Something is pressing on his cheeks, something wet streaks down his chin. Sobbing attacks his senses, loud and ungraceful. Red fills his vision. Warm hands cup over his face, pinks and blues and blacks swimming in his peripheral.

She's there. She's kissing him. Her nose is running and her eyes are scrunched tight. Is that his heart thumping wildly or hers? He can't tell. She's folded into him, his response devoured.

The hero is silent, but Kristoff is not. He was saved.


End file.
